Burning Petals
by Claire Summers
Summary: Robin's point of view, life after the factory burned down. Rated for Lime, short, quick, a new spin on things.


Well, here is the latest in my one shot series. Hope you guyz like it.

It was mine I tell you, all MINE! 

shut up jesse! I'm sorry, that's my ego, she likes to talk a lot.

MINE 

**Claire flicks jesse away** just..go read…I'll take care of her.

Disclaimer: I do not own Witch Hunter Robin, or Amon, though I wish I did.

The petal that was so firmly attached to the rose fell lifelessly to the ground with a soundless cry. Other than the vase with the rose, the room was void of color. Not that she minded, She was used to it by now. Amon was away, she rarely saw him. Robin guessed he thought this room was too plain. They didn't talk much when he was there, not more than the exchange of a few polite words and how are you?

_... I'm going..._

_...All right..._

_... I'll be home late..._

Strange. This was their home. His and hers, for half a year now, they lived there. Sometimes a hunter came to search for her, and their lives were temporarily disrupted. But Amon was true to his word, he stayed to guard her. Sometimes Robin worried that he would leave her, and if it were not for the loneliness she wouldn't care as much.

_... No, that's not it..._

She knew a lie when it was presented on a platter, even when she was lying to herself. The truth would make her think too much. Would make her worry and wonder, imagine and wish. If she would do that, Amon would know and he would leave.

_... Robin? What are you doing here?..._

_.…….I'm scared Amon, this hunter, he is good, what if he's better than you?..._

_...Go back to bed Robin, there is nothing to worry about..._

He slept in pants. Always ready to jump at any intrusion. A gun tucked away beneath his mattress. That night meant nothing to him but a way or release. Robin wasn't an idiot, but she was not a rebel either. She did what had to be done, when it had to be done. Amon just looked too comforting, safe, like somebody who would hug her until her tears ebbed away. However when she ignored his words and sat down on the edge of the bed she didn't think of tears.

_...Robin, don't..._

_...Amon..._

She couldn't risk thinking that it meant something. Dreaming was too dangerous, hoping was too rash. Amon was too cold, too distant. She bit down on her lip, god help her, she could not forget that night. Not for the life of her would she ever let herself forget. For a brief moment, Amon was no longer the quiet sultry figure in the shadows. He captured her shoulders, bit her skin, whispered her name. However he did not whisper sweet little nothings and, for that, Robin was grateful. More words pouring of promises of love would only ignite a fire best left alone.

_...Robin..._

Her had never sounded so appealing, only from him. He was her guardian; he kept her safe, the man in the shadows. Robin watched the rose now as another leaf fell to the table. There was a faint smell of cheese in the air, mixed with wine.

_... Please...touch me..._

_...You don't know what your asking..._

_...Amon, please... just touch me..._

He did then, and before the storm Amon was as gentle as that rose petal would have been on her skin. His words on her skin as harsh as rain would feel. His hands in her hair holding pulling her mouth to his into a brutal kiss. No, that fire was best left as an essence, never a bonfire.

_...kiss me..._

_...Oh God..._

_...I want you..._

_...what am i doing?..._

The rose was wilting, the more she watched, the more she thought. The more she thought, the more she remembered. One night, and that's all it took to unravel all her feelings. Entangle her thoughts and dismembered her mentally. All night it went on until the sun rose and he finally collapsed on her. He wasn't sleeping though, he started humming. Humming to her heartbeat. That was how she fell asleep. When her eyes fluttered to awakening he was gone, the bed cold and uninviting with him no longer in it. The ground seemed to want to burn her, her clothes a pile of garbage on the chair in the corner. For a moment she fingered the pillow beside her, looked at the white sheets and grimaced. All of it seemed so dirty to her all of a sudden. After that night, she felt like no amount of showers could wash away her shame.

She almost begged him for it, and he gave it to her. Gently and forcefully, calmly and impatiently, tenderly and painfully. No, there was never telling what Amon would do next. How he would act, there was no sense in turning on that fire. The burning in her would remain a simple speck.

She looked once more at the rose, the color dark, reminded her of blood, and then her eyes became slits and there was no denying it. The rose lit afire, igniting the petals to a burning crisp. Her blood on fire, burning for Amon. And like that rose, it would burn to a crisp and leave her alone and dead inside. Hollow and forgetful, foolish and regretful. Always being watched and looked right through. Forever left like that, until the hunt got to her.

Or to him.


End file.
